


red and reed

by cadmean



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Strange Journey
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, idk mate it's smt, wound fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadmean/pseuds/cadmean
Summary: After so many iterations that have ended in failure, Louisa's chosen has finally laid low Mastema.She decides to savor that victory for all it's worth.
Relationships: Louisa Ferre/Mastema
Comments: 13
Kudos: 15
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	red and reed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [graiai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/graiai/gifts).



Angels, Louisa has come to find over the course of her millennia-long struggle against His warriors, bled not in crimson but in cascading shades of stained light. She’s never quite been able to determine whether it is simply a reflection of His assumed brilliance that the many legions of angels show to their enemies and allies alike, or if it’s something inherent to the species as a whole – in any case dead is dead regardless of color, and demons bleed as red as humans do, and that’s all Louisa cares for. The angels’ peculiarity is simply that: a peculiarity, caught in that same light-drawn hue that engulfs every other part of their being.

Mastema’s blood holds only a bare fraction of the luminescence it should have. Louisa watches her champion strike him down like so much detritus caught in the flood of glorious inevitability, and she watches the angel fall, and she, very deliberately, withholds the content smile that wants to break free on her lips as she watches Mastema struggle feebly to rise after her champion has departed.

Light has fractured around His herald, pooling below him in a puddle of dead stars that only barely manage to reflect the brilliance Mastema’s form had once been bestowed with.

Curious that he still lives, then. Louisa turns her head just so, and catches sight of the myriad possibilities that have scattered out from around the angel. In the closest one, Mastema disintegrates the moment he’s finished saying his piece – unsatisfying for everyone involved, and Louisa dismisses it with a lazy shake of her head. In another, Louisa’s chosen doesn’t fight him at all, instead choosing to ally with the angel; in yet another—

She shakes her head again, more forcefully this time, and the fractured light collapses back into itself, leaving behind only Mastema, still slowly bleeding out on the ground and heaving air into his lungs with the sort of feeble desperation that is so base it looks entirely out of place on him. Louisa watches him for a moment longer, enjoying the way his fingers twitch in the dirt, repeatedly digging in and grasping for—anything, it looks like. It’s absolutely pathetic, and Louisa watches with a too-wide, too-sharp smile until he manages to get both his arms under him enough to push himself off the blood-stained ground.

And because the expression on his face is too self-satisfied by far, Louisa takes a step forward. Mastema is too preoccupied with laboriously rolling himself over onto his back to notice her, his pain-filled panting so loud that it covers up the soft sound of her footsteps with ease; Louisa, with great deliberation, continues to take another step towards him, and another, until her bare feet are caked with the shining blood of the angel and she’s standing right above Mastema, looming for all her small frame will allow her.

He’s on his back now, chest heaving and eyes closed from the sheer effort it must have taken, and all the wounds Louisa’s champion has inflicted on him are on display. Gun and blade and the myriad teeth and claws of her chosen’s summoned demons have rendered the once-pristine white garb of the angel into a torn mess. That awfully bright blood of his pools beneath him, leaking in a steady dribble from the great terrible cut across his chest, and the hole in his torso heaves wetly with each great shuddering breath he takes – it’s a beautiful sight, Louisa readily admits, and she savors each and every pained whimper that escapes her age-old enemy.

Louisa waits until his breathing has evened out ever so slightly to strike. She’d thought him too far gone by far for any reaction, but when she gently prods him in the ribs with a light-stained toe, Mastema gives another great heaving breath and fractionally manages to turn his face towards her. The expression on his face is everything she’d hoped for it to be: there’s the expected shock, of course, and the ever-present loathing he can never quite manage to hide even when interacting with his chosen humans, but beyond all that Louisa finds something new in his eyes: fear.

She can’t help but flick out her tongue to wet her lips at the sight – a gesture she’d long ago adopted from the humans, for the sheer pleasure of how useless it is – and gives the angel her best smile.

“Did you expect to see your chosen come to your aid, Mastema?” Louisa asks in a tittering voice, and then, because she can, and because she wants to see how he’ll try to hide his disappointment, she adds, “I’m afraid she’s too preoccupied by far for that.”

“Lucifer,” is all he can get out before Louisa changes her mind and decides that there’s no fun to be had in halting conversation, and plops herself down right on top of him instead. It drives the breath right out of the angel – as it was intended to, for all that angels don’t actually need to breathe the simple act of conforming to the laws of creation holding more sway over them still – and as Louisa settles down across his stomach, blood and gore quickly seeping into her dress, she notices a hard length pressing up against her.

The smile she gives Mastema in response is beatific.

“I’d have expected more from you,” Louisa tells him as she makes an effort to slowly trail her fingers up his chest, past the great wound her champion had struck there, until at last her fingers catch on that awful mask Mastema is still wearing. Flimsy and weak and as much of a lie as is everything else about the angel, Louisa takes great pleasure in hooking her fingers in under the edge of the mask and pulling it off in one smooth motion –and while the face it reveals is drawn from blood-loss and exhaustion, Mastema’s eyes now once more glint with that edge of defiance that Louisa has always so favored in her enemies. 

He’s not made a sound yet, and so Louisa shifts slightly, pushing back ever so lightly against him, until he can no longer bite back a low whine.

“There,” she says, and makes a point of caressing the sharp lines of his face with one hand and the hard outline of his cock underneath her with the other. Mastema shudders but even now he doesn’t say anything. “Silence? Really? I’d have expected more from you – was it not your given duty, herald, to let know all the people of the world of His glory? You,” and she releases his chin to trail it back down to his chest until she comes to a stop over the great wound there, gristle and glistening bone laid bare beneath her hand, “are a disgrace to your kind.”

Still no reaction save for a slight hitch in his breath and a downturn of his eyes.

Briefly Louisa debates forcing him to look at her. There is merit to the idea, she thinks, if only for the novelty of him having to be the one to look up to meet her eyes for once – but between the angel’s blood soaking her legs and the laboured sounds of his breathing, Louisa quickly comes to the conclusion that there are better ways to get a reaction out of the angel.

With another too-gentle smile, Louisa curls her hand over the deepest part of the wound in Mastema’s chest and, with no further preamble, pushes a finger into it. She slips the tip of it past the torn edges of flesh and through the shattered pieces of his ribs until she’s knuckle-deep in him – and even then Mastema flinches only when she twists her finger around, dragging and scraping against his scorchingly warm insides with the sort of gleeful malice she’s been forced to deny herself for too long now. He’s so wet inside, and so warm, too; even now, bleeding out beneath her, Mastema still burns with that awful divine fire Louisa has never been able to stop herself from wanting to possess.

“I want to tear you to pieces,” she tells Mastema in her best conversational tone, pushing another finger into the wound and savoring his sharp intake of breath for all it’s worth. “I want to rip you to shreds and it would be _so_ easy.”

He starts to protest, of course, and ever-merciful Louisa stops him from having to give voice to a shambling rebuke by hooking her fingers deep inside the wet cavity of his rib cage and _pulling_.

The noise she forces from him is as far from angelic as it can get – low and broken and so very desperate, it’s all Louisa can do not to moan herself.

“But look at you. I don’t need to do any of that, do I? You’re enjoying yourself as well as any demon would, aren’t you.” To emphasize her point, she begins to slowly fuck her fingers in and out of that terrible wound. Blood squelches around her with each and every motion, bubbling out with each lazy thrust, and the angel is so very warm around her that Louisa can’t help but shudder slightly at the sensation. Mastema, for his part, is all shallow breaths and involuntary twitches as Louisa caresses his guts – and only when she deliberately stabs in deep with four of her fingers, until they’re as far in as they can go, buried in warm blood and scorching viscera, does Mastema finally, finally, let out a cry of pain.

Though she has never been anything even close to human, that sound alone gets Louisa wetter than anything else has in millennia.

Out of instinct and a sudden need for friction, she grinds herself against his blood-wet abdomen, enjoying the slick push of it against her cunt along with the increasingly pained noises that escape past the angel’s clenched lips as she pushes herself over fractured bones and torn flesh. When she eventually sits back against his still-hard cock, however, Mastema falls silent, biting his lips hard enough to draw blood.

“Well?” Louisa prompts him after a moment, once more resuming the thrusting of her fingers into him, “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

She waits a few breaths longer than is necessary, simply enjoying the ragged whimpers she tears from Mastema the deeper she pushes her fingers, the more hallowed blood spurts out from the wound as she continues to thrust into it as deeply as its size will allow her – and yet from the vigorous shakes of Mastema’s head, no answer appears to be forthcoming. Louisa, with a put-upon sigh, pulls her fingers from out of the wound, uncaring for the bits of bone and viscera that follow in their wake. 

Mastema does scream, now, and the sound is every bit as divine as Louisa had hoped it would be.

He’s still hard, too – though how he manages it with all the blood he’s lost Louisa doesn’t care to find out – and when Louisa reaches back with her hand to run her fingers along the heavy outline of his cock, Mastema’s screams dissolve into broken bits of liturgy instead. 

Louisa lets him go on for a bit, ever so gently palming at his cock, until at last she grows bored of it all and asks, “What would your champion think of you if she saw you now, herald? Poor Zelenin; you preached about Heaven’s virtues and the purity she could obtain only as one of you, and yet here you are, as desperate for it as any of the demons you saved her from.”

He tries to push her off of him then, his torn and broken wings flaring out against the ground—but all Louisa has to do is press her bloodstained fingers back to the hole in his chest and Mastema slumps back against the ground, spineless as ever.

“I never—” he begins, but whatever disappointing case he is about to make for himself dissolves into a startled croak instead as Louisa squeezes his cock with just enough force to be on the wrong side of painful.

“Don’t try to lie to me of all people, Mastema,” Louisa tells him. “You’d like it if she saw, wouldn’t you? Oh,” and she lets out a delighted little laugh when she notices just how still Mastema has fallen at her question, “perhaps that’s what you were hoping for? That my champion would fail, and Zelenin, triumphant, would come looking for you? Would come looking, and find you like this, beaten and bloody and so desperately hard for one of the very beings you claim to abhor?”

“Zelenin _will_ defeat him,” the angel manages to grind out between teeth grit tight in pain, but to Louisa it sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself more than her.

“We’ll see, I suppose. But until we know for sure the spoils must, as always, go to the victor, yes?”

And with another pleased laugh at the disbelieving expression on his face, Louisa twists around to tear at what little remains of Mastema’s robes until his cock is freed – hard and heavy and as large as Louisa’s forearm, in this form. But she gives no thought to foregoing this slight frame and switching to something sturdier: she has come this far as Louisa, and she will see things through to the end as Louisa as well. So instead of crushing the angel with the sheer mass of her wings, instead of wrapping clawed talons around his throat, instead of choosing any of the options that so readily present themselves to her amidst the fracturing light, Louisa instead hikes up her dress and lines herself up and pushes herself straight down onto Mastema’s thick cock.

The initial stretch burns, both from the width she forces herself to accommodate as well as from the sheer awful heat of the angel below her. The blood they’re both covered in does little to ease the way as Louisa sinks lower But she savors the sting, that feeling of too-tight fullness as she pushes the whole length of his cock inside her in one ragged glide, until she’s certain she can feel him in her stomach – and Louisa savors the little pained noises Mastema makes below her just as much. His face is scrunched up tightly, eyes closed, and as Louisa forces his cock ever deeper into her, he can’t quite bite back a moan of pleasure. 

The light fracturing off of him as she grinds on his cock is brilliant indeed – as are the little noises of protest Mastema makes, unable as he is to physically push her off of him with all the injuries he’s sustained in his fight against Louisa’s champion. Louisa savors them just as she does the stretch, until he’s fully sheathed inside her, her thighs bracketing his hips and the hem of her dress staining ever darker with the blood still pooling around him. When Mastema is finally fully hilted inside her, Louisa drags in a slow breath – just as Mastema takes a shuddering gasp of his own, wet and so desperate in an entirely different way than he was before.

Louisa watches with a lazy smile as he struggles to lift his arms to push her off, but broken as he is Mastema only gets as far as settling his hands on her hips. They linger there for but a moment, fingers twitching and digging in tightly for a single breath before all the strength leaves him and, head lolling to the side in the same motion, Mastema’s hands fall back limply to the ground.

She’ll have to be quick about this, Louisa realizes, if she wants her age-old enemy to learn anything from this. 

And so she leans forward, placing her own hands, slim and slight, on Mastema’s broad shoulders – and she puts her mouth close to his ear and she whispers to him that secret thought he has never once admitted to himself but which Louisa has always seen writ oh so clearly across his masked face – and as Mastema tries to buck her off of him, Louisa begins to _move_.

It is easy enough to hold him down, especially given the state he is in; easier still to push back her fingers into his wound and fuck them into him in a rhythm entirely off-kilter to the one she fucks herself to on his cock. He is hot around her fingers and so thick inside her, his huge cock bludgeoning her cunt as she grinds herself on it, pushing him up into her as deep as he can go – and she pushes into his guts with the same rough speed, warm blood flooding out between her fingers in much the same way Mastema’s come flows out of Louisa and down her thighs as he suddenly spills inside her, trembling and shaking his head with wide eyes that would look almost innocent on anyone else.

Louisa rides him for a few breaths longer, out of principle, until she withdraws her fingers from the fucked-open wound in his chest and begins to rub her clit with them instead. Mastema’s startled gasp and his babbling attempts at prayer at the sight are all she needs – she comes on his softening cock, shaking apart with a moan she makes no effort at all to suppress.

As she comes down from her orgasm, Louisa looks down at her age-old enemy. He’s passed out sometime in the interim – whether from blood loss or the force of his own orgasm or nothing more base than sheer shock, she isn’t quite sure – but when Louisa lifts herself off of him, a brief pained expression flashes across his features nevertheless. 

She cants her head to side again, and watches the myriad possibilities unfold from this point forward: she leaves him here to bleed out, or she has him again, or she calls back her champion and allows him to widen that awful wound he’d already dealt until he’s spent himself inside the angel—

But, again, Louisa turns her head and lets the light collapse back in on itself. Another time, perhaps. First she must see what has become of Zelenin and her own champion.


End file.
